


To Tame

by Luninarie



Series: If it can't burn [1]
Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Chronology Is A Mess, Drinking Games, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, mentions of childhood trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luninarie/pseuds/Luninarie
Summary: Jarlaxle & Artemis have settled in Waterdeep. They want to establish themselves there, but cross paths with another famous Drow. Shall they give him a chance to be a part of their sellswords band?





	1. Deal with it

**Author's Note:**

> I hardly respect Salvatore's canon, and take my favorite characters at chronologically incoherent stages of their development. Drizzt is the most affected. I vastly prefer him in "Sojourn" and "The Crystal Shard" and I try to use a cheekier, lighter version of him. This piece and its sequel are mostly excuses to play with these three adorable scoundrels.
> 
> Do not look too much for a scenario, and do not hesitate to comment!
> 
> This fiction was written in French and translated by me. The beta-reading was done by Dendrite Blues, bless them. You can find their work in this archive, mostly in the FrostIron (Avengers) fandom. Go read their fictions, they're incredible.

Their employer had arranged to meet them a little before dawn, at the eastern gate of Waterdeep. According to Jarlaxle’s rapidfire explanation, the caravan would travel south-east to Dragonspear Castle as soon as possible. The escort contract was not very interesting, but after a spat with a merchant guild the Drow needed to keep a low profile. Getting away from the city for a few days seemed like a good idea.

Artemis Entreri had hardly protested. However, even after they had established themselves in the waterdhavian lands, he was reluctant to wander on the roads. They had bought an apartment over a tailor’s workshop with their common resources, had it comfortably furnished - and protected - and they even made themselves known among the recruiters of the city. Finally, the two of them were getting more interesting missions, both in substance and coin.

If Entreri agreed to escort caravan, it was because he never refused to stretch his legs and that the season was good enough for traveling. The trip would only take a few days on a busy road. The danger was not non-existent, but it was not unreasonable.

He walked in the footsteps of his companion, following his falsely light stride. Jarlaxle had dressed in his traveling clothes: leather pants, a sleeveless bolero exposing his arms and abs - a false openness, a black cape and his eternal purple hat. The colors were duller and darker than usual, probably to avoid attracting attention. His left eye was covered by his eye patch and he was wearing numerous rings and earrings with magical properties. Two sword-holsters flapped his flanks.

If Entreri was studying Jarlaxle’s clothes so meticulously, it was only because he was bored. He was eager to arrive at the place of rendez-vous to learn more about their mission.

Turning into a sleepy street with closed shutters and folded stalls, they arrived at the city gate. The sky still bore the darkness of night on the promise of a cloudless blue. To the east the horizon was pink, fresh as early spring.

Two sentinels gave the mercenaries nods as they passed by, but they did not stop them. The sight of a Drow pacing the city was no longer surprising. The common people remained nervous around the dark elves, of course, but Jarlaxle's face had become familiar and seemingly harmless.

A mistake, to be sure.

The caravan was waiting in an open meadow, still in sight of the walls. It consisted of a dozen carriages of various sizes. Some vehicles were obviously carrying textiles, but some merchants had protected their cargo under thick, waterproof tarps. Entreri recognized their employer a few steps away. He was examining a manifesto, checking signatures, and counting coins on a small table set directly in the yellowed grass. He greeted them with a nod, showing his teeth a little.

— A good morning to you, Master Marton! Jarlaxle said.

Marton grunted an answer. He did not seem quite awake yet. After a few seconds of confusion on his part, he handed them two scrolls, a pen, and an inkwell. The contracts. Entreri did not bother to read them, it was Jarlaxle's job to deal with the terms and conditions. He signed with a thoughtless stroke of his pen. He wondered how long he had trusted his companion to take care of such things.

— The third guard has already arrived, he must be going around the carriages to introduce himself, said Marton eventually. A local celebrity. A Drow like you, Master Bregan.

A stone fell in Entreri's stomach. He turned to Jarlaxle and grabbed him by the collar. He did not really know what he was feeling. Shock. Betrayal? The hot iron of anger?

— I did not know! Jarlaxle protested, his eyes wide, his mouth half-open with surprise.

— Here he comes! said Marton distractedly.

Entreri turned around. There was his personal nemesis. He recognized on the beautiful, angular face of the young elf the stunned expression on his own. Everyone put their hands to their pommels, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

— Master Marton, I think we're going to let you down, Jarlaxle said softly.

— Oh no! You signed! I had a hard time finding people with good credentials. If you leave, I'll make sure no one ever gives you honest work in Waterdeep or in the area!

Entreri entertained himself with the idea of slicing the caravaneer's throat there and then. The image of his head rolling in the meadow grass soothed his nerves. The threat was serious though. He and Jarlaxle had spent a lot of time earning their spotless reputation as sellswords in the city. A breach of contract would be a considerable blow.

— Jarlaxle, Drizzt greeted, bowing to him with a nod and a friendly tone.

The elder drow gave a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

— Entreri, Drizzt added hesitantly.

The three swordsmen glared at each other, waiting for someone to react.

— Can we work together? asked the ranger in a calm voice.

One could have cut the silence with a dagger, so heavy was it. Entreri had a furious desire to turn his back on the whole situation, to return to their apartment and ignore this disastrous start to the day. He closed his eyes, with the impression that the stone in his stomach had turned into lead. He absently heard Jarlaxle offer to pay Drizzt, guaranteeing that Entreri and himself could protect the caravan by themselves, but Marton did not want to hear anything.

The solution was tragically simple. They had to deal with it.

 

Two hours later, as the caravan started its journey in a characteristic concert of squeaks, Entreri found himself thinking that the trip might turn out to be tolerable. Once the initial surprise was over, Jarlaxle was delighted with Drizzt's presence. They spoke in Drow, a little too fast for Enteri to grasp all the nuances, but he still managed to follow the conversation. Essentially, Drizzt gave a summary of his last wanderings after the deaths of his companions. He had first returned first to the Icewind Dale and Ten-Towns, but had then chosen to travel south to warmer climates. Waterdeep seemed only a stopover in his journey. To Jarlaxle's questions, he answered that he did not know exactly where the wind would carry him, but he did not doubt that his blades could be of use somewhere.

Entreri realized that Drizzt had changed, as if he had had to relearn how to live after the mad adventures of the Mithril Hall Companions. It was as if he had partially made peace with himself, with his heredity, with the gait of a hunter, exuding danger.

Jarlaxle turned to Entreri with a sparkle in his eyes that foreshadowed the worst.

— No, Entreri said, without giving his companion time to say anything.

— But ...!

— No. I'm going for a ride at the front of the line, he announced, ignoring the protests of the flamboyant Drow.

He realized that the proximity of the two dark elves annoyed him. He had to make an effort and understand this particular feeling. Since his struggling with Idalia’s flute, Entreri refused to let his thoughts fester and rot inside of him. So many enemies could profit from a weakness inside his mind. What was he feeling? Hatred? After all these years — the duels, the mad pursuits from one end of the world to the other — could this feeling remain intact? No, it was more complicated than that. Anger had the taste of habit, it was mixed with something else. Envy? Jealousy?

Entreri frowned. What did he envy? Do’Urden’s youth? The friends and allies he had surrounded himself with? No. Entreri did not have to envy these relationships, he had Dwavhel at Calimport, and Jarlaxle...

Ah. Yes. Perhaps was he used to being alone with Bregan D'aerthe's captain. It was mere possessiveness, as stupid as it sounded. It did not matter. In a few days, the caravan would arrive at Dragonspear Castle and the three swordsmen’s path would separate.


	2. Treasure hunt

Entreri grabbed the ranger’s wrist to pull himself out of the recently unsealed sewer. Without waiting a moment, he moved to the end of the corridor, observing the maze that lay before them. He signaled that the way was clear, and Drizzt immediately joined him, scimitars at the ready.

Jarlaxle had left fifteen minutes before, guided by some incomprehensible instinct. Perhaps he had kept some intel to himself. Entreri guessed that he wanted to get his hands on the target first, to claim the glory and bragging rights for himself.

The assassin slipped into the corridors, skimming the walls, his step light and feline, all nerves and discretion. Like his shadow, Drizzt remained on his heels, almost crouching like a wild beast. They made their way in the corridors of the fortress, the spontaneity of the dark elf responding to the imperturbable composure of the human, the ingenious creativity of the first balancing the technical perfection of the second. A delicious combination at the top of the art. Even Entreri had finally recognized it. Together, they transcended and surpassed the ordinary rules of fencing - and any form of armed combat to be honest.

During the escort of the caravan, Jarlaxle had managed to convince Entreri to offer Drizzt an alliance, and a place in their partnership. The discussion had been an exercise in attrition, but the Calishite's conditions had been debated with rage: Drizzt would not have the right to refuse assignments or contracts, he would have to pay his share of the costs and lodge himself at first. After the return trip from Dragonspear, the two mercenaries and the ranger had spent time perfecting their cooperation on the battlefield, training together, getting used to each other's style and techniques.

Needless to say, it was not easy in the first days. From hate to mistrust, they had gradually made their way to tolerance, then acceptance, and finally something like a thin web of understanding and collapsed prejudices. Entreri had become accustomed to seeing Jarlaxle watch Drizzt with a paternal spark in his eyes. The Drow insisted Do’Urden join them because he had been a friend of his late father, and he had always had a philosophical admiration for the one who had escaped Menzoberranzan. 

Although he was deep in his reflections, Entreri stopped dead in his tracks. There, a few feet away, and turning his back to him, a guard was day-dreaming. The assassin shared a look with his companion, already aiming a throwing dagger between the soldier’s shoulder blades. Drizzt was pouting. Entreri did not know whether he wished to spare a so-called innocent’s life or to scrupulously respect the given orders. Their employer had said they should not leave unnecessary victims.

Artemis let the Drow pass him. The dark elf held out his left arm in front of him. An almost inaudible hissing sound announced that the small crossbow he was carrying had just launched a tiny bolt coated with poison. The guard felt a sting in his leg, perhaps blamed an insect. His gestures became heavy and tangled. He staggered, struggling to keep his balance, then fell backwards. The dark elf had already approached him to catch his body and prevent his metallic armor from clanging loudly on the floor. When he had made sure that the man was indeed asleep, and checked that the perpendicular corridor was empty, Drizzt motioned to Entreri. The assassin joined him with a skeptical pout.

— We’re leaving a witness behind us, he commented with annoyance.

Drizzt tore the poisoned dart from the guard's leg. He then grabbed the tiny flask he always carried with him. It contained a few sips of strong alcohol for extreme situations. He flipped it around the guard's mouth.

Artemis nodded approvingly. The guard would be taken for a drunkard, and no one would believe his intoxicated ramblings. The ranger took the nod for a compliment, curtsied in a very Jarlaxle way, before he rushed into the hallway.

— The treasure room must not be very far, Entreri remarked.

Drizzt nodded, then stopped and motioned for the assassin to do the same. He pointed to the figure advancing a few feet ahead. A figure wearing a big purple hat. A few seconds, and Jarlaxle disappeared into another corridor.

The ranger used Drow sign language to communicate his fears to his companion.

\- _He must know where the diadem is. Will we let him win the race?_

An unusual conspiratorial smile adorned his lips. Entreri suddenly needed a few moments to get used to it. To hide his surprise, he darted, without adopting a too discreet approach. In truth, he did not want to take Jarlaxle by surprise. Quite the contrary. Drizzt stayed back, probably getting ready for anything and everything.

Jarlaxle heard the footsteps behind him and turned quickly, searching at the same time for a place to hide. He was already preparing to activate the dweomer which would allow him to blend into the stone and disappear. In the same second he recognized Entreri's steps and relaxed. A trained eye could have seen the Drow’s suspicion. There was no official bet about the treasure to be found in the fortress, but the competition was real. Would Entreri try to double him? Nobody knew exactly who was the most Machiavellian of the three swordsmen.

— Come on, _khal'abbil_ , what are the news? Jarlaxle asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

Entreri shrugged, glancing behind him. An excellent comedian, he hoped that Jarlaxle would bite the hook of a false nervousness.

— Where is Drizzt? Jarlaxle asked.

— We should meet him a little farther, he is making his way through the servants’ quarters.

Drizzt, still out of sight, suddenly understood. Entreri was trying to give him time. He was pointing out the path to follow to reach the treasure room. Drizzt sank into the shadows and changed directions. He walked through an antechamber and two huge doors adorned with sumptuous and intricate woodwork. After some unsuccessful searches, he finally managed to find the room where a great collection of wealth of all kinds laid. Drizzt explored the place, looking for the diadem. Why did Entreri give him that victory?

No, the young Drow scoffed. He only gave to Drizzt to take from Jarlaxle. It was quite different.

There, that box on the wooden pedestal. Drizzt closed the box carefully, taking care to check that no trap had been activated in his handling. His treasure under his arm, he turned around, to find himself nose-to-nose with his two partners.

The disappointed face of Jarlaxle was worth the detour.

Drizzt could not help but give Entreri a triumphant smile. The latter had an amused grin that he quickly hid under a frown.


	3. Dwarvish jigs

Jarlaxle motioned for the barmaid to come to their table. After handing the diadem over, their contract was complete and their employer had left the three swordsman clustered around a table in an opulent tavern in the city center. Jarlaxle finished dividing their winnings up and raised his glass:

— To our fruitful association! And to young Drizzt for being the fastest ...

Drizzt raised his own glass with an amused smile. Entreri waved his hand quickly, annoyed, before burrying his nose in his glass. It smelled of hazelnut and citrus, far better than the donkey piss that was served in the poorer districts.

— Rich of this victory, may I make a wish? the ranger asked.

Puzzled, Jarlaxle urged him on.

— We’ve been working together for three months, he said. And soon, thanks to you, I hope to move somewhere better than my expensive hovel.

Jarlaxle and Entreri exchanged glances. They had talked about it that very morning, coming to the same conclusion. Their apartment on the outskirts included an attic that could easily be converted into an extra bedroom. The costs would be reduced since they would divide them by three. Jarlaxle’s trust of their younger companion surprised Entreri, but he understood the decision. It was the most practical solution.

Entreri nodded with a sigh.

— My young friend, if sleeping in the attic does not frighten you, you’ve got yourself a new home, said Jarlaxle with a smile.

Drizzt was delighted by the news.

— More reason to drink! Jarlaxle said.

He too seemed particularly pleased with this new arrangement. They drank silently, enjoying their strange fellowship.

— I’ve got a contract proposition, Jarlaxle said after a while. A local name, Lord Philbon, contacted us for an investigation. He’s inviting us to a social evening where we must make sure his children are behaving ... they might be unsavory people.

— And dark elves will be welcomed with open arms? Entreri asked, incredulous.

Jarlaxle waved his index finger in front of his face.

— Only if we know how to blend in the scenery, that is to say if we take part in the festivities: dances, games and other hobbies of high society.

Drizzt grimaced.

\-- Other than a few Dwarvish jigs, I can’t dance, he admitted, embarrassed.

— We can teach you, the older Drow replied. The party is in three weeks, we have plenty of time to prepare.

— If you propose this contract, I assume the reward is high enough? Otherwise I do not understand why we would parade around like peacocks at a stupid party, Entreri grumbled.

— Five hundred gold coins for spying, double if we discover something - and some of our expenses are covered.

The Calishite nodded. It was very good payment, considering the mission. He gave Jarlaxle his agreement. They parted ways some time later. Drizzt went to fetch his belongings in his small room and they decided to begin their preparations the next day.

 

Entreri's jaw was clenched, his face unreadable. He stood in the middle of their living room with an unusual stiffness in his movements. Drizzt gave him an embarrassed look, before joining him. Shyness. That was unusual too. Jarlaxle had left them to discuss their evening dresses with the tailor on the ground floor.

— Dwarvish jigs, you said, Do'Urden? the assassin asked gruffly.

— That's my entire repertoire, I'm afraid.

Entreri sighed. With a half-shrug, he removed the sheath of his sword from his waist and placed it on the table pushed against the wall.

— It has three beats, like the pass Jarlaxle taught you.

Drizzt nodded.

— A repetitive base, to which we add more or less complex moves to create variations. One dancer guides: it is he who indicates the direction and begins the movements. The other dancer must follow and adapt. You don’t mind me leading?

Drizzt nodded again. He was surprised the assassin had agreed to take time to teach him dancing. That he took precautions not to offend him was even more astonishing. Drizzt was now determined to show that he was a good student. He got rid of his own scabbards. The human approached him, a little stiff.

— Your left hand on my right shoulder.

The dark elf obeyed. The assassin grasped his right hand, then put his own right hand on the Drow's waist, forcing him to considerably reduce the distance between them.

— Now, try to follow me.

Entreri stepped on his left, and Drizzt did as well, clumsy and awkward. The human took the maneuver in the other direction and started again diagonally. The elf had now understood the principle: he could follow the steps of his guide.

— Raise your head, do not look at your feet, Entreri ordered.

He then executed a few extra basic steps, let go of Drizzt’s waist before starting again.

— You got that?

Drizzt nodded, focused. His pulse accelerated under the silent orders Entreri imposed his body. A puppet between his hands.

— Alright, try guiding me now, Entreri offered.

The chemistry was unexpected. The two swordsmen managed in short time to turn around the room with cat-like grace, easily exchanging roles. They did not stop dancing even when they heard Jarlaxle climb up the stairs. Entreri even tried to launch Drizzt in an aerial pirouette but the elf did not understand the gesture and broke contact, laughing.

— Did you try to throw me away? he blurted.

— Boys, I thought we were past that, Jarlaxle admonished, with a big smile on his lips.

Entreri rolled his eyes and ignored the jab.

— Jarlaxle, he said, I leave him in your capable hands. He knows the basics. Try him.

— Don’t mind if I do!

The mercenary bowed and grabbed Drizzt's body with authority. The two dark elves danced for a moment and Entreri found himself pleased with the work they had done, and proud of his success as a teacher. He had to admit that Drizzt learned fast and well. Jarlaxle also seemed satisfied.

— I think I can show you the aerial part, he said. Artemis, my dear ...

Entreri gave a long sigh, but lent himself to the game. He pulled Jarlaxle to him, with a provocative sway of his hips. A small, barely perceptible smirk appeared on his thin lips. Entertained by the challenge, the Drow in front of him burst into a delighted laugh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He retaliated by exerting a slight pressure on the assassin's shoulder and pressed his pelvis against his. They spun with ease in the living room. Jarlaxle's smile kept growing. Entreri made the same move that he had tried with Drizzt and grabbed Jarlaxle's waist to throw him in the air. The Drow followed and took a turn in the air, lost his hat, but managed to land gracefully on his two feet. He moved back into the dancing stance, lowering his hand from the hip of his partner to his loins.

— I’m in love, Jarlaxle cooed.

Entreri let him go during a new turn, and Jarlaxle fell on his ass with a loud thump. Drizzt roared with laughter. He helped Jarlaxle get up while the latter hesitated between fuming and laughing.

— I’ll go see the billboards, Entreri announced, half-concealing his own amusement. We need to keep busy for the next three weeks.

He picked up his scabbard, put on his black cape and went out with a nod. Drizzt stared at the older Drow as Entreri left. It was rare to see him naked, without his smiling masks.

— He has no idea that …, the ranger started.

— No, none. But that's alright. He’d think that it's an elaborate strategy to ridicule him.

Drizzt looked down, intimidated by Jarlaxle's sudden vulnerability.

— Let's make something of your room, shall we? proposed the mercenary, putting his mask back on.

 

The next day Entreri knocked at the little attic door at the top of a miller's staircase. The sun had risen. Drizzt opened the door with uncertain and very young eyes.

— So early ? he moaned.

— Jarlaxle went to see Kimmuriel early, we’ll take the opportunity to continue your training.

— Striking the iron while it's hot, fine, Drizzt sighed.

He opened the door wider, like an invitation to enter the attic, see his nudity, and a surprisingly nice view of his bottocks. Entreri blinked. Did he just admire the body of Drizzt Do’Urden? He looked away, hiding a sudden blush. Within the attic, Jarlaxle had recovered a dresser and a wooden trunk to furnish the place. A hay mattress laid directly on the floor, covered with a set of sheets that Drizzt had brought back from his former room. A thorough cleaning had been done, making the modest attic largely acceptable. Brushes of light rivered down from small windows, making dust dance slowly in the air.

The young Drow was finishing getting dressed. He had chosen a greenish long tunic held on his hips with a leather belt, and a pair of brown trousers tucked in his boots. He grabbed his weapons and descended the stairs following the assassin.

— From the top, Entreri suggested. Did you see my little trick yesterday?

Drizzt realized he was talking about the famous aerial pirouette.

— Do I really have to do that?

— We could be satisfied with the basics but let’s make a good impression. It will prove that the three of us are used to this kind of parties. We will juggle between two behaviors: not betraying the fact that we are there to spy on Philbon’s children, and making a show of ourselves to the local nobility.

Drizzt nodded. He was not used to Waterdeep’s intrigues and schemes, but he understood that he had to play that part within Jarlaxle’s little mercenary band.

— Your little trick, you say? Drizzt asked.

Entreri nodded. He stood in front of the Drow and took up the previous dance position. He broke down the movement several times so that Drizzt could easily spot it. He then explained the rotation in the air, and the reception.

— If you're going to fall ...

— I trust you to catch me, Drizzt immediately finished.

His lavender eyes bore into the assassin’s grey ones. Entreri felt trapped by his gaze. What was happening there was important ... and precious. He nodded, a lump lodged deep in his throat. They executed the throw again and again. The first times, Drizzt did need to be caught upon landing, but after a few tries he was able to stand on his own.

— Not bad, Jarlaxle said suddenly.

He was nonchalantly leaning against the door. He touched the brim of his hat and laughed softly. No one had heard him enter the room. A skill of his.

— The dancing is good enough I think, but we will need other skills to mingle with Waterdeep’s finest lords.

Drizzt folded his arms on his chest.

— And what is your advice, oh my captain?

A smile appeared on the mercenary's lips.

— Make a little effort, Do’Urden son. Remember you were a prince of Menzoberranzan... The great ceremonies, the rituals to the glory of Lolth ... And there, in the dark halls, a courtesan, a human, comes to you.

— A courtesan? Entreri asked, his eyebrow raised.

— A whore, Drizzt explained as if he were giving the time of the day.

— I knew I was feeling insulted.

But Entreri did not take offence. If that staging was necessary, he would surrender to Jarlaxle's ideas. The latter slipped behind the human, then pushed him forward to the other elf, holding his waist firmly, determined not to let him escape.

— I’ll do it, Entreri sighed.

He rolled his eyes but bowed to the younger Drow. Drizzt, stupefied, witnessed a spectacular transformation. The face’s expressions, the eyes’ light, the smile’s charming set, the body’s seductive language… All was metamorphosed. The assassin was gone, a new man was reaching out. Drizzt seized his hand and let himself be dragged into the footsteps of the "courtesan". Jarlaxle laughed softly, applauding the performance. Entreri was talented and almost deserved a dark skin and pointed ears. The Drow leaned against the wall to enjoy the spectacle that was — of his own admission — a feast for the eyes. With the appropriate costumes, one would never guess the deception ...

— So, oh captain, will we survive an evening in the high aristocracy? Entreri asked.

— If we can destroy his purple hat beforehand, we should be fine, Drizzt said.

The remark snatched a smile from the Calishite. Anyone could be fooled, but for Drizzt, this reaction was unreal, impossible. And yet, that smile seemed so sincere and pure. Drizzt gritted his throat. Being pressed against another’s hot body, the young Drow’s own body was waking up in a rather untimely way. He disengaged himself from the dance, slightly blushing. Hopefully, no one had noticed.

— Tomorrow, we'll teach you one or two other dance moves, said Jarlaxle, ignoring the threat to his hat.

— I found a small tailing mission, Entreri announced. A usurer wants to check the whereabouts of a debtor today. He should get out of the market at lunchtime, I’m going there.

— Do you want company? Jarlaxle asked with a blank face.

Entreri shrugged, and a discreet smile blossomed on the Drow’s face.

— Great! Drizzt, what will you do with your day?

The ranger seemed indecisive.

— Some shopping, maybe.

— Will you prepare dinner?

— As you wish, Jarlaxle, as you wish…


	4. Persistent

As piercing sunbeams made their way through the thatched roof and drew long golden scratches on the floor, the distant clamor of the city swelled and grew. The vibration had lulled Entreri a few hours ago, now it was waking him up. He wanted to stretch but Jarlaxle was wrapped around him, preventing any movement.

The first time Entreri had woken up in Jarlaxle's octopus-like clutches, he had violently thrown him out of bed. Murderous rage did not cover then the magnitude of his anger. The second time, he had threatened to kill, to no avail. The third, mutilations were mentionned. The fourth time, Entreri had just questioned the phenomenon. Jarlaxle had replied that he did not like to sleep alone.

Since then, Entreri surrendered. He knew that this behavior only occured in the apartment, and never on the road. The arrangement had a plus side: in case of danger, they would be two to react and they knew how to fight alongside each other.

A few knocks were struck against the door. Drizzt entered the room.

— In polite societies, Do'Urden, Jarlaxle grumbled in a sleepy drawl, one waits to be invited before entering.

He tightened his grip around the blanket in a lazy gesture.

Entreri was paralyzed. Drizzt’s gaze was fixed on the bed, on the two mercenaries side by side on the mattress. After a moment, he met Entreri's eyes.

— Jarlaxle is persistent, the assassin explained in a very flat voice.

The older Drow finally straightened up, laid his hand on the Calishite’s waist, kissed his shoulder, and gave the younger elf an impish smile.

— Join us, Drizzt, come taste the delights of Waterdeep.

Entreri groaned incredulously, hiding his face in the sheets. What would Do’Urden think?

— I came to wake you up for breakfast, sorry for the intrusion, Drizzt said, barely hiding the smile in his voice.

Entreri looked up. He did smell coffee and eggs. Having the ranger as a roommate had an indeniable advantage: he liked to cook for everyone. His dinner the night before and the preparation of breakfast had put him in Entreri’s good graces.

— Oh…, Jarlaxle sighed, are mushrooms on the menu?

— For you, my captain, of course.

— Bless you, Drizzt Do’Urden!

The Drow mercenary finally rose from the bed, blinking to chase the lingering miasma of sleep. He had not been able to reach reverie for a few decades now, the dream-like state that allowed elves to rest. But now he was used to sleeping as Entreri did, a few hours each night. To his delight, he had discovered that sleeping with his partner improved his rest. Entreri had of course protested vehemently, but as he himself had said, Jarlaxle was persistent.

The two mercenaries dressed quickly and joined Drizzt in the living room. Three plates of scrambled eggs, fresh bread, cheese and grilled mushrooms awaited them. They ate in peace, exchanging only a few words. Entreri blinked. A few seconds were necessary to understand what was happening. He felt serene, content and, to some extent, safe.

With two dark elves. Of course. That was perfectly normal, right?

Jarlaxle groaned in pleasure as he gulped his mushrooms down.

— Bless you, Drizzt Do'Urden, he repeated in a reverent whisper.

The ranger laughed at that.

— I’m serious, said the mercenary. It was already a profitable arrangement: a third person to share the cost of the apartment, someone we know and whom I am almost convinced we can trust, an excellent partner for business... and now we discover that he is also a great cook!

— My my, Jarlaxle,you’re flattering me! Drizzt said, amused.

— You know, if I had gotten my hands on you back in Menzoberranzan, you would already be my lieutenant.

— I'm going to blush, Jarlaxle. Now I understand how you convinced Entreri to let you sleep in his bed.

The Drow roared with laughter. A real, brilliant laugh that surprised Entreri. He had heard Jarlaxle laugh in the past, but rarely so, with that spontaneity.

— No, Jarlaxle answered in between his hiccuping laughter, flattery is not efficient enough with him. I wear him down.

Entreri watched the two Drows as they exchanged other jokes, about him or not: their chiseled profiles, the whiteness of their eyebrows, Drizzt’s long hair, left free on his shoulders, the curve of Jarlaxle’s neck. He was fascinated by the movements of their hands as they spoke — like an unconscious echo of the Drow sign language —, by their slender bodies, their...

He stopped the train of his thoughts. Examined his observations. Frowned.

Two dark elves.

What was wrong with him?


	5. Drinking game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of drinking, a bit excessively so.
> 
> I'll post the final three chapters next Tuesday! And... comments are fuel for life ;)

Jarlaxle had pinned a roll of parchment onto the wall of the living room. It featured a list of the entertainments expected during a classic aristocratic party. It included: dancing, three types of dice games, mill game, chess, songs and...

— "Pickpocketing"? Drizzt quoted. Is that what I think?

Jarlaxle nodded, his arms loosely crossed.

— Artemis and I often make bets when we mingle with nobility. The winner is the person who brings in the most coins and jewelery — objects easily valued. The loser gets a penalty. I lost several times in a row, and I’m tired of doing the laundry.

Drizzt frowned. Thievery was not a pleasing idea. He did respect his missions within the mercenary band, but that item on the list was just for the sake of entertainment. Relieving innocent people from their property was bristling.

— The winnings are divided in two. First part goes to the winner, the other to local investments, Jarlaxle explained.

Drizzt raised an elegant eyebrow, intrigued.

— The baker's wife at the street corner is sick and needs expensive care. The local tanner needs to repair his roof. And there are a couple penniless children around who are always happy to eat something hot - and who make excellent neighborhood informants.

These outbursts of generosity embodied the opposite of the Drow doctrine, but Jarlaxle was proving once more that he had not been made in the same mold as the other males of their race. Nevertheless, the mercenaries’ philanthropy was interested: they were making a positive impact in Waterdeep and creating fruitful partnerships for the future.

— One rule: we do not give to cults, Jarlaxle specified. The rule was issued by our testy human, and I believe he holds it dear.

Drizzt nodded. Over the years, he had noticed a great animosity on Entreri’s part towards religion. It had to go back to his youthful years in Calimport.

— So? Are you in?

— I’ll make a poor thief, Drizzt said. I'll get caught immediately.

— Ah ah! We can teach you. And turn that into a game. I need to go out and entertain myself tonight!

 

An inn in the suburbs. Sitting down at the table, Drizzt had no idea why he had agreed to Jarlaxle’s crazy night out. His pickpocketing lesson had turned into a drinking game in an awfully public setting. To his relief, the goal was to steal from each other, without preying on the tavern’s customers — who had not much in their pockets anyway.

If one of the three players were relieved of an item, they had to drink. The rule was rather simple. However, Drizzt was very surprised that Entreri agreed to participate in the contest. Seeing the assassin’s gait, Drizzt understood quickly that his great skills in this particular situation were the reason.

— A successful theft is an undetected one, Entreri said. If I see you, Do'Urden, it doesn’t count. Let’s meet here when the bell strikes next, we’ll see what we’ve got.

Drizzt nodded. The challenge was actually amusing him, even if he doubted he was going to succeed. That night, the inn was packed. Two viol players were entertaining the crowd, settled against a wall, and many customers were dancing and merrily drinking. Jarlaxle sneaked into the crowd first, joking with barmaids and zigzagging between drunk clients. Entreri quickly followed suit, pretending to be a tourist, a newcomer in the city. His acting talents were exemplary. Soon Drizzt lost sight of him. He had disappeared in the background.

The young Drow left the table. He had to try at least. He joined the dancers, enjoying the playful music. After a while, he saw Entreri with his back turned. The ranger realized that the Calishite was going to seize a purse Jarlaxle carried on his flank. It was the perfect opportunity. Drizzt moved like an eel between the customers, and pushed aside a young woman with flushed cheeks. She barreled into Entreri with a gleeful laugh, allowing Drizzt to crawl behind the assassin and pinch between two fingers the pommel of a dagger he wore on his belt. He slipped away to the bar.

Adrenaline made him dizzy. He was on his guard, but the tavern’s attendance levels were such that it was difficult to keep an eye on the other players. They passed several times close to each other. Jarlaxle even had the audacity to grab Entreri by the waist to make him dance. Could he manage to steal something that way? Drizzt was stunned to see the assassin moving to the music, going as far as to sway lasciviously against the Drow. Drizzt could not believe his eyes. They were like two lovers taunting one another. Entreri leaned over his partner's neck, kissed his jaw line, and nibbled his earlobe.

And somehow bit off a golden earring that disappeared between his teeth.

An incredulous laugh escaped Drizzt. What a move!

The bell of the neighboring church rang with an almost inaudible tinkle in the inn’s hubbub. The three players converged at their table.

— I’ll start! Jarlaxle announced. I’ve got... a handkerchief, a bracelet, and an empty sheath belonging to Master Entreri. I also stumbled upon a small crossbow and a dice game, property of Master Do'Urden. So… it will be three glasses for the first and two for the second.

Two grunts of defeat answered him. The stolen items were recovered by their respective owners. Entreri and Drizzt then drank down their glasses with good grace.

— My turn, Drizzt said. I’ve got Entreri’s dagger and one of Jarlaxle’s necklaces. It's not much but...

— It’s a start! the older Drow recognized.

— Good job on the dagger, Entreri admitted, sheathing it back. I thought Jarlaxle had it.

— One drink each, the ranger concluded.

Two glasses of bitter wine were promptly emptied. Entreri let out a sigh that sounded very much like satisfaction.

— Come on, Artemis…, Jarlaxle urged.

— I’m savoring my victory, the assassin said with uncharacteristic delight. So... Do'Urden: a purse, a leather bracelet, a silver buckle from your left boot, a dagger from your right boot, and a set of crossbow bolts.

Astonished, Drizzt laughed loudly. He had no idea how the Calishite had managed to steal items from his boots.

— And dear captain: two bracelets, your emerald necklace... and an earring.

Jarlaxle put his hand to his ear, realizing the absence of the small ring that he wore there. He blushed, though that reaction was hard to see on his dark skin. Drizzt just laughed more.

— Five for Do'Urden, and four for the captain.

The two Drows raised their glasses as a sign of respect.

— A second round! Jarlaxle demanded. Fear my revenge!

 

As the night went on, the game intensified but lost any pretend it had on seriousness. Alcohol did not help. The thefts became grotesque. Jarlaxle's hat was the prey of choice and passed quickly from hand to hand. At one point, Entreri realized that he had lost his shirt. Drizzt was regularly relieved of his belt.

Around four o'clock in the morning, the players finished their game and left the tavern, to the applause of some customers who had come to understand the unusual competition that was unfolding before their eyes. Unkempt and inebriated, the three mercenaries went back to their apartment with wobbly steps. Jarlaxle was quietly singing a ballad and Entreri glanced lazily at the stars and streets around. Despite the drunkenness, he remained attentive to the few passersby who roamed the streets at this late hour.

As they passed the old ruined arch that demarcated an old city gate, Jarlaxle camecloser to Drizzt and put an arm around him in a loose hug.

— I’m glad you joined us, kitten, he said in a quick, poorly articulated Drow.

— Kitten? Drizzt picked up.

— I feel like it's good for Artemis. He’s smiling more. He looks... not quite happy, but... well.

A friendly silence settled between them for a few moments. Entreri walked a few steps in front of them, perhaps to give them a little privacy.

— It's good for me too, I guess, Drizzt said. I was not myself... after Mithril Hall. After Catti-Brie. It's like a metamorphosis, even if I don’t know what I'm changing into.

His tongue felt loose from the alcohol. Confiding in Jarlaxle may not have been recommended for ordinary people, but Drizzt felt he could trust the older Drow. The benevolent ghost of Zaknafein brought them together, as did the shared experience of an exile on the surface world.

Jarlaxle was smiling softly, his glowing eyes in the night fixed on Entreri. Drizzt could not help thinking that the Calishite might have stolen something else from their captain. And had not given it back.


	6. Damaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments, they mean the world to me! Keep them coming ;)

Dawn was a distant memory now. Neither from the city rumble, nor from the tailor's doorbell that rang many times that morning, nor from the calls in the street did stir Entreri up. He finally woke up at lunchtime. That was his estimate, as he fought against the daylight with half-closed eyes.

This time around he was the one hugging Jarlaxle. The elf’s back was leaning against his chest. They were still dressed in their clothes from the day before, as they had slumped unceremoniously onto their bed once back home from the inn. The Drow's slow, deep breathing transformed into a sigh. The mercenary was also waking up.

They stayed there for long minutes without moving, pressed against each other, without saying anything, breathing in time.

Entreri’s heart had turned into a powerful drum that deafened him with its slow pulsation. He raised the arm not wedged under Jarlaxle’s side and, very slowly, as if manipulating an object that could break or explode, pressed the elf’s chin towards him. 

— Do not say anything, please, Entreri whispered.

Jarlaxle's eyes fell on his lips.

Artemis went through the last few inches between them. It was like crossing an ocean, and finally reaching land. Their lips touched, timid, as if afraid of a burn.

Jarlaxle cautiously pivoted on his side to face him, holding his breath. The light of day underlined his face in a lazy golden glow. Entreri caressed his cheek, his jaw, and the curve of his eyebrow to the corner of his lips. The smell of Jarlaxle's skin made him dizzy. A smell of musk. Of alcohol from the night before. Of a chimney’s smoke. And of something else entirely.

The Drow was biting his lip under that halting and sensual touch. He had so many things to say, but Artemis had asked him—had said ‘please’ in his deep, rough voice like a prayer—not to say anything. To speak would break the spell. He dared to put a hand on the assassin’s burning skin, at the junction between shoulder and neck.

A sigh. Entreri grabbed his lips in a surge of desire. They exchanged a long kiss, the intensity making them shudder like an electric shock, hugg each other, and align their bodies with long and tentative gestures.

— May I…? Entreri asked in a broken rumble.

Jarlaxle nodded. If the human asked him to fly and steal the light from the moon, he would go in a heartbeat. But this was something else. Entreri gently maneuvered him to lie on his back and opened one by one the buttons of his silk shirt. To each new patch of skin revealed, he offered a kiss. Jarlaxle had never known such sincere and naked tenderness. His mouth was captured in a languid dance that made him forget his name, then Entreri lay on his side against him. He seemed immersed deep in his thoughts, perhaps searching for his words.

— I’m... damaged, he finally said with a bitter certainty. It's going to take time. Perhaps more than your patience can muster.

Artemis was offering Jarlaxle a way out, an opportunity to stop everything without taking any new risks. The Drow nodded, but kept stroking his partner's arm back and forth.

— And in the end, I might not be able to be with you… this way, Entreri went on.

He frowned, looking nowhere but within himself, examining the fragments of his soul, those broken pieces that held together by the sheer force of his will, by the cement of his stubbornness - and Jarlaxle’s. Could the fragile scaffolding be reinforced?

Jarlaxle murmured his answer, searching out for the human's gaze:

— I'm willing to try, to wait, _khal'abbil_.

— I would understand if you had to... satisfy your desires with another. I can not demand that from you.

Jarlaxle’s breath got stuck in his throat. There was so much suffering in his friend's eyes, so much hope... and so much fear that this hope would be crushed under the weight of reality. The Drow did not know what to say, had no idea what to do. He let his body respond for him, snuggling up against Entreri's chest, shoving his head under his chin. It might not have been much, but this gesture seemed to appease the human who wrapped his arms around him.

They enjoyed the embrace and breathed together, frightened by the magnitude of what had just happened, and by all the traps and mistakes waiting for them.

They heard noise on the other side of the door. Drizzt had risen and, if the gods were merciful, would prepare them something to eat. They exchanged glances and got up, getting dressed as best as they could. It would be a good idea to run a bath as soon as possible to get rid of the sweat and grime of the night. Before opening the door, Entreri approached Jarlaxle as if to kiss him. He seemed to ask permission.

— Yes, you fool, the Drow impatiently said.

The next second, Artemis’s lips leaned against his.

And the second afterwards, Artemis opened the door, giving Jarlaxle an amused glance over his shoulder.

Drizzt was indeed cooking a piece of meat over the fireplace, moving the embersaround with an iron spike. He was shirtless and had tied his white mane on his neck with a loose cord. When he straightened up to grab crockery to set the table, his ebony skin rippled like a panther’s stalking. Entreri’s breath stopped. And started again.

Jarlaxle was watching him.

An amused smile appeared on his face, one that did not bode well.

— Drizzt! he greeted. You are a vision on this beautiful morning!

— It’s two in the afternoon, the ranger laughed. But I thank you. I just filled the bath with clean, warm water if one of you wants to get back to life.

Entreri nodded and hastened to disappear into the bathroom.

Jarlaxle sat down, under the quizzical gaze of the younger Drow. He started to talk about the visit they needed to pay to the tailor for the adjustments of their evening dress, but at the same time, his hands said something else:

_Do not look at me like that, Do'Urden_.

Drizzt grinned. His own hands answered, falling back into familiar gestures.

_You should have seen your smile when you came out of that room..._

Jarlaxle sighed and his head fell against the table.

— Do you have a secret recipe against hangover? he asked out loud.

— Water and food, the next best thing in the absence of a specialized wizard.

_You would have smiled the same_ , Jarlaxle's hands eventually retorted. _Mind your own business, kitten_.

The older Drow sat up. He had a hard time preventing a smile from reaching his lips. Drizzt frowned slightly.

_I do not want any of you to get hurt_.

That snatched the smile from Jarlaxle's face, but warmed his old heart. He shook his head. Drizzt was right. He would have to be careful. More than ever. Artemis had admitted to being "damaged", but Jarlaxle was not intact either. There would be lies lurking in the dark and shadowy words left unsaid. They would hurt each other, they would hurt themselves... Was it even worth it? What if this flirtation, this relationship only brought suffering and resentment? What if it drove them away from each other?

Drizzt sat next to him and put a reassuring hand on his forearm. Jarlaxle chided himself. Was he so far gone that his emotions could be read on his face like words on a page?

— Food, what a marvelous idea. Do you have any mushrooms left? he asked in an exaggeratedly light voice.

— No, a glutton annihilated them a while ago.

_One step at a time_ , Drizzt gestured silently. _You're no foolish teenagers, you'll get there_.

Jarlaxle smiled softly. Who would have thought he would gratefully receive such advice from Drizzt Do'Urden? But, after all, had it not been the same with Zaknafein? For a moment, their two images were superimposed, and the connection was bitter-sweet but pleasant. A memory of moments of happiness stolen from Menzoberranzan.

The mercenary cocked his head, let out a brief sigh, closed his eyes, then straightened up.

— The tailor, then, as soon as we are ready. I'd like us to spend a little more time on preparations. We need to learn those idiotic line dances that humans like so much.

Drizzt nodded, then went back to his cooking. He filled three plates with a large slice of bread on which he piled a fried egg, thin slices of grilled meat and a spoonful of spicy red beans. When he put the plate in front of Jarlaxle, the older Drow looked straight into his eyes.

— Thank you, he said.

The ranger gave him a wink, then went back again to the fire to repel embers threatening to attack the floor. At the same time, Entreri walked out of the bathroom, a towel tied around his waist. He usually was a modest man, rarely in a state of nakedness around others. But he had nothing to fear with the two dark elves, apart from a discreet but greedy glance from the older of the two.

What he did not see as he made his way to the bedroom to finish getting dressed was that Drizzt, who was finally sitting at the table, had had his eyes on him too. Jarlaxle discreetly coughed to get the ranger’s attention.

_Not too bad for a human, right?_

Drizzt swallowed wrong and could not stop coughing. When he managed to catch his breath, he seemed torn between glaring murderously at Jarlaxle and blushing a deep dark red. The mercenary burst out laughing. Entreri returned to witness this strange scene.

— Did I miss something? he asked in a uninterested drawl.

— Drizzt may be greedier than we previously thought, said Jarlaxle. Enjoy your meal!


	7. I Look Like A Peacock

In the middle of the afternoon, the three of them went down to the ground floor workshop. Drizzt had not yet formally met their neighbor. Master Redlast was a nervous little man with restless hands, big eyes hidden behind enormous glasses, and an apron made up of pockets from which all sorts of tools of the trade came out.

Anyone would have been nervous about living below a trio of mercenaries — two dark elves and a dangerous looking Calishite—but Redlast seemed satisfied of the arrangement. They actually only shared a doorway and a corridor, and perhaps there was an advantage in being on good terms with swordsmen.

Drizzt and Entreri discovered that Jarlaxle had indeed ordered outfits for their mission watching Lord Philbon’s misbehaving children. The clothes were lying on the tailor's workbench. At first glance, Drizzt saw that they were made of much richer materials than his usual wardrobe.

— I don’t know if I have enough to pay you back, Jarlaxle, he said in Drow, frowning.

— Don’t mention it, Jarlaxle replied in Common. Our employer is partly funding this. For the rest, consider it a gift to celebrate our association. All three of us do need decent outfits for the coming season. If our next mission is a success, other members of the nobility will solicit us. I can’t stand the idea that you might be underdressed in my company.

Entreri shrugged. If he had been alone with Jarlaxle, he would have insisted on paying his share, but he could accept the Drow's generous whim.

— Master Bregan, said Redlast. I finished your order. I used the measurements you gave me.

— Have you measured us in our sleep? Drizzt asked without entirely concealing his embarrassment.

— I have a natural talent for judging size, Jarlaxle replied with a wink.

Two groans answered him.

— If these gentlemen are ready, I would like them to try the clothes to adjust them if necessary, the tailor said feverishly.

— Let’s get on with it, Entreri sighed.

He went first and disappeared behind a wooden screen for fitting. Redlast, armed with needles and a stick of chalk, seemed satisfied with the result. He invited his client to show himself. Entreri was now dressed in elegant black leather pants that did not constrain his movements. He wore a black silk shirt with copper accents. A half-cape rested on his left shoulder, held with a tin-buckled harness. A discreet thread of gold adorned the cloak. The outfit gave him a dark but very elegant appearance. Drizzt hissed between his teeth.

— What a look! Jarlaxle sighed with wonder. Alright. We need knee high boots, gloves, and Master Entreri will make heads turn.

Redlast nodded with a smile, obviously relieved his work was appreciated.

— Drizzt, you’re up, Jarlaxle supplied.

Entreri changed quickly and the ranger took his place. His own outfit needed some quick alterations. It was more showy and spectacular than Entreri's, but looked perfect. It consisted of a pair of well-fitting midnight blue trousers, a slightly transparent turquoise tunic held by a thin belt, and a dark seagreen cape.

— Jarlaxle, I look like a peacock, Drizzt groaned.

— Absolutely! Jarlaxe replied, thrilled.

Entreri could not hold back a laugh that he tried to hide behind a cough. The outfit was a bit ostentatious but Drizzt looked splendid. It was very different from his usual appearance, but that was the goal.

— Ankle boots, some jewels, and we must tame your mane, but finally you'll look like a nobleman from Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle said.

— I _am_ a nobleman from Menzonberranzan.

— The third son of a small house, a fallen one on top of that, don’t flatter yourself.

Entreri hid another smile.

— Your turn Jarlaxle, he suggested. Let’s not detain Master Redlast who probably has better things to do.

The tailor hastened to assure his customers that he was delighted to make sure that everything matched their wishes. It must have been one of the biggest orders he had received for months, or even years.

Jarlaxle finally took his place behind the screen and reappeared in a much less theatrical outfit than expected. It was dyed in a dark purple palette with gold accents: a pair of tight-fitting trousers and a doublet with copper buttons and an open V-neck, with rising edges that framed his face and accentuated his already sharp features. With his usual hat and cloak in matching colors, Jarlaxle was striking, but only at second glance.

— You look like a guild master, Entreri remarked.

And it was true. For a trained eye, Jarlaxle looked powerful, but not like a front stage player. Someone to contact to do business. An outfit like a statement of intent.

— That's perfect, Master Redlast. Finish it all, we'll get our packages back when everything's ready.


	8. Nothing Simple

The much-awaited evening had finally arrived. Entreri had chosen a corner of the ballroom, and sat on an isolated chair, watching the guests coming and going with attention. Lord Philbon's might have conceived his children with an eel, because they regularly managed to sneak away and evade surveillance. Entreri had however uncovered the truth. The eldest daughter had a lover; a young apprentice under Blackstaff’s, one of the city’s most emblematic wizards. The second son was buying and selling forbidden plants and decoctions to the city’s golden youth. As for the youngest, she seemed determined to get into trouble, but did not succeed by some setback.

In short, the surveillance had been successful. Entreri did not know if that was all there was to discover, but something told him that he would not learn much more that night. In an hour or two, the guests would begin to take their leave.

The main entertainment of the evening had been card games and, against all odds, a wrestling competition instigated by the lord of the house. Earlier in the evening, some pretty women had gathered around a harpsichord to treat the guests to some lovely songs, but a small orchestra was setting up now. The proper dancing was about to begin. Entreri could have been bored to death in such circumstances, but he took advantage of the evening to do what he did best: gathering as much information as possible about Waterdeep’s nobility, fulfilling his contract and saturating his pockets with skillfully stolen jewelry. Most of the guests were casually inebriated, which made the exercise easier by the minute. Entreri had abstained himself, preferring to keep his head clear.

A figure leaned against the wall next to him. Drizzt. Jarlaxle had indeed made a Drow prince out of him. His long white hair was braided and adorned with silver chains. He wore earrings that scintillated on his dark skin, but also had makeup lines that emphasized his eyes and brought out their incredible lavender hue. Exotic and attractive. It was a new branding for a well-known name on the coast.

— The much-vaunted moment is upon us, the young Drow said.

— The highlight of the show? Entreri asked without waiting for an answer.

Drizzt nodded. Yes, the evening had been a staging, an ostentatious show to introduce themselves under the best possible light to Waterdeep mundane life. Three rich mercenaries, powerful and dangerous, but available and competent.

The two warriors headed for the dance floor. They were intercepted by Jarlaxle. Their captain wore a big smile on his lips.

— And that’s a third invitation, he announced proudly. Remind me to send a case of champagne to Sir Philbon, this is a great night for business.

— You’ll think about it on your own, Entreri answered.

— Without a doubt! Drizzt, will you allow me the pleasure of sharing your first dance?

Amazed, Drizzt quickly realized that the dances were all mixed and that one could change partners freely, starting with a friend and finishing with a stranger, and vice versa. A cheerful music rose in the air, and many guests rushed to pair up in colorful and glittering couples. Jarlaxle dragged Drizzt with him in graceful and quick steps. Since his first lesson, the young Drow had made incredible progress. He swirled with fluidity and beauty, his muscular body adapting perfectly to the movements of the dance.

— The ugly little ranger of Icewind Dale turned into a beautiful peacock, Jarlaxle sighed with a dreamy and satisfied smile.

The remark snatched an outraged laugh out of Drizzt as he whirled in a dizzying pirouette. A rhythmic change in the music gave them an opportunity to trade partners. Drizzt found himself leading lord Philbon’s youngest daughter. She was stunned to dance with a dark elf, a real one. Drizzt kept an eye on his companions and saw that they were dancing together.

Entreri had indeed joined Jarlaxle. Suddenly, they were alone in the crowd, drowning in each other’s eyes. Jarlaxle smiled with pleasure, a real smile, not the charismatic facade he had worn all evening.

— I knew it would work out in the end, but still, he said, it's good to see our band doing so well. You, Drizzt and I.

— That’s because we’re following your lead, oh captain, Entreri said with false flatness.

Of course, Jarlaxle would not decide anything without Entreri’s agreement — they had learned that in the past the hard way — but he was the driving force behind their trio. The mercenary smiled even more widely. Artemis seemed relaxed. Of course, he kept an eye on their surroundings, but the line of his shoulders, the expressions on his face, it all revealed easiness.

— It was a good idea to invite Do’Urden in, he admitted.

— Any more murderous impulses towards him?

— Since he no longer tries to convince the whole earth of the righteousness of his soul, he is decent company. He’s still too… proper. But he makes up for it in the kitchen.

Jarlaxle snickered.

— What about our next mission? Entreri asked.

— Ah! the Drow exclaimed. A scandal! It’s delicious. A gentleman has "lost" courteous letters at his mistress’s place. She now threatens to render them public, and blackmails the unhappy lover.

— Shall we make sure she ceases?

Jarlaxle grimaced.

— Nothing definitive, he nuanced. Maybe scare her a little. And, of course, we must find the letters and destroy them.

— Just like their possible copies?

— No, those, we'll keep.

The Drow's biting retort made Entreri smile, a slightly cruel expression that sped up Jarlaxle’s heartbeat. He allowed himself to move his hand from Artemis's shoulder to the back of his neck to stroke it lightly. Since that morning, Jarlaxle had not tried anything, choosing to let Artemis decide the pace. "One step at a time," Drizzt had said wisely. They always shared their bed at night, but without sensual intent. Until now?

The music slowed down, giving the dancers the chance to waltz in more intimate settings. Artemis squeezed the Drow a little harder against him. He had the same expression on his face that he had that morning, when he asked silently for a permission.

— Kiss me, Jarlaxle ordered with a composure he was far from feeling.

They exchanged an embrace that made the Drow lightheaded. They had somehow stopped dancing and were holding each other in an unlit corner of the dance floor. Jarlaxle’s heart was on the edge of his lips. Why had a simple human such an effect on him?

Because he was nothing simple, this human, Jarlaxle reasoned. Artemis was an exceptional being, defying his expectations, surprising him constantly, always challenging him. And Artemis stayed by his side, defended him, never betrayed him. A partner, an equal, a friend ... And something else now, that may never have a name.

— Let’s go, said Jarlaxle in a breath. Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this will be the end of this first piece in the "If it can't burn" series.  
> The next one, "Seven Days" is under work. Eight chapters are already written in French, three of them have been translated and beta-read. However, I'll post only when everything is under wrap.  
> I think it will be a 10-12 chapters thing, we'll see!
> 
> See you soon and do leave comments, they're a balm to my soul :)


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